The Mighty Fall
by Hlbur14
Summary: Martha Thatcher is in a coma, Peter Parker is trying to repair what was broken, and Claudia Thatcher is believed dead. Bonds have been broken, love has been lost, and sanity has been taken. Peter must find the one girl he ever truly loved, and that one girl is no longer his to save. A sinister game is at play, and fate is rolling the dice.
1. Prologue

**Hey guys, I'm back! It's been a while I know and I apologise for that, but I'm not gonna lie I've missed writing so so much (hence why I'm not waiting for the next film). **

**This is the third story in the Thatcher series, if you wish to add any ideas then please feel free to tell me and I will see what I can do. I hope you all enjoy, and if you are a new reader then I strongly suggest you read the first two stories first :) **

**Enjoy my lovelies! **

* * *

_I felt nothing. I was beyond comprehending any emotion anymore. What was the point when it never aided you in anything? Love, hate, compassion, lust; what was the need? Humans are animals, just smarter than the regular mammal. We're just monkeys that can talk; emotion shouldn't be a part of it. Love and hate doesn't help you survive, emotions like that just distract you from the real problems at hand. _

_And that was how I acted, like an animal. I could see him, the boy I had fallen in love with what felt like a life time ago. He was there below me, his brown eyes filled with an anguish I couldn't understand. I knew who he was to me, I knew our history, yet nothing inside me stirred. Not the quickening of my heart, not the hitching of my breath, not the rash thoughts of wishing he would kiss me already. _

_He certainly didn't look like he wanted to kiss me right now, anyway; his face was turning blue. I was almost sure that shouldn't be happening but I couldn't have given a single crap about it. I also disregarded the black bruises on his cheek and below his left eye, as well as the blood pooling out of his nose. _

_I remembered his name lodged in my throat, desperate to reach my lips and cry out. It was like a stone was lodged viciously in my oesophagus, refusing me any permission to say a word. His name tasted like a sour lemon. _

_My hands were cramping. Why? It hurt from my fingertips to my locked elbow, and the power in my muscles ached from my upper arms, over my shoulders and right down into my abdomen. The boy was clutching my forearms, but that wasn't causing the pain. _

"… _Cl-Claudia… s… s… stop…!" _

_My eyes refocused from the boy's eyes, instead coming to rest on the little hands wrapped around his neck like a vice, small thumbs pushing savagely into the soft, tender skin below his Adam's apple. Little hands, with chapped nails and bruised, bloodied knuckles. Seeing the cuts made me feel the sensation of stinging, the kind of sting that the breakage of the first layer of skin would cause. _

_I came to the realisation that those little hands were my hands. They were pushing into his throat, blocking the air from reaching his lungs and crushing his windpipe. I felt like I should have been worried, or scared, or even angry at myself, but I felt nothing. _

_The boy's eyes rolled back and I pushed harder against his throat. And I heard a sound. A cackling, vibrating within me. My lips were pulled back in a twisted smile, and soon I came to realise that the cackling was my own, insane laugher. _

_The boy I had just murdered, the boy lying dead beneath me had once been my partner. He was dead, and I was maliciously happy about it._

* * *

I bolted awake, beads of sweat cooling my forehead, neck and back. I was panting, my heart racing in my chest. My legs were cramping and my knuckles were burning; blood coated my fingertips where I had bitten my nails down to the flesh, while my knuckles glowed red with split skin from punching the wall on a recent occasion.

I heard the rattling of a chain that was attached to the wall, though it parted to form two metal cuffs around my skinny ankles. The white gown I wore was filthy, smelling of a week's worth of body odour. My bear feet looked no better than my hands, covered in blistered and cuts. My legs were almost black from thigh to ankle with bruises.

But the state of my body was nothing. The sight of _him _was another.

Harry Osborn sat opposite me with a sadistic smile on his face, like he always did when I awoke from a manipulated nightmare. There was no point in lunging for him; both of us knew how that would end, which was usually me in a bloodied mess after being punished by the 'doctors'.

"Did you kill him again?" Harry asked me sweetly, like we were talking about cookies and marshmallows. I remained silent, watching him like a rabbit eying a fox. He cocked his head at me, his hair falling over his left eye. "It must be so blissful to dream such a satisfaction."

I spat in his direction. He laughed at me when I missed and the saliva landed on my foot.

"I wish I dreamt about killing him," he continued. "Though the dreams I do have are just as pleasant." He looked like he wanted to shuffle closer but thought better of it. His eyes shone black with lust. "Your creamy skin under my hands as you give yourself up to me, thighs gripping my waist, hands in my hair…"

"_Shut up!" _I snarled, though my voice was rough and broken, no longer mine. I rarely spoke anymore, and when I did my throat and tongue felt like they were made of sandpaper.

"Were you ever with him in such a way, Claudia? Did he ever touch you; did he worship your body like a man should with his lady? Did he ever carry you to bed and claim you, while also telling you how much he loved you?"

I found myself chanting the same line over and over while covering my ears. _Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! _I knew he was only taunting me, laughing at me, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Beyond the fierce front and strong attitude, I was afraid of Harry Osborn. He frightened me, reduced me to a shivering mess that cried herself to sleep. He terrified me because his blood ran through my veins, the same blood that had saved me from death. I was better off dead. I wished his men had never found me; I wished I had died hugging Gwen's body. Apparently fate had another path for me.

I hated Harry Osborn, but I couldn't survive anymore without him. His blood was mine. We were tied.

He was my own personal hell.

In his eyes, he was his own version of Lucifer and I was his Queen.


	2. Found

**Chapter Two guys, don't forget to review!**

* * *

Martha Thatcher had not opened her eyes for seven months. In the room there was only the sound of her monitored heartbeat, and endless sound that sometimes seemed worse than her death. It was a mockery, someone laughing in spite. Her heart beat strongly in her chest, every wound and broken bone had healed, yet she wasn't even able to open her eyes.

But she remained beautiful with her golden hair and pale skin. Neutral pink lips frozen in place, eyelashes forever long and shadowing her cheekbones. She had a scar above her right eyebrow, only faint but still there. Her nails were long, soon needing to be clipped. Due to lack of activity, they were clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. The nurses of the hospital kept her angelic face perfect, her golden hair shining, and her scent still hers. Since they could do nothing else for her, the least they could do was make her _look _alive.

Maybe it was safer that way. Sometimes Peter Parker wished he was in a coma, too. Knowing that he had failed the entire Thatcher family was enough to make his heart become dead weight.

First it was Mark and Ashley Thatcher, killed in a senseless shooting, yet Peter had been more bothered about finding his own uncle's murderer to bother about anyone else.

Then he'd failed Martha, who had been trapped in a car during a freak accident just over seven months ago. He hadn't been there to save her, either. During the horror of the crash, Peter had taken off after the monster that was Max Dillon, the man who had caused the crash. The man, who had been lonely, caught in a mystery incident that turned his entire body into electricity, and who had had an obsession with Peter's alter ego.

And then there was Claudia. He would never forget seeing her for the last time, hunched over as she clutched a bleeding wound on her middle left side. He also remembered the blood reddening her full lips while her ocean blue eyes shone dark with pain. She'd fallen to her knees, gagging on her blood and shaking with the agony of a gunshot.

He remembered thinking, _how did I let this happen to you? _

And then Harry Osborn arrived, twisted and insane, on his god forsaken glider. It was when he arrived that Peter's life was truly ripped apart. Harry, once his best friend, perhaps even his non-biological brother, had ruined his life. He'd taken away his best friend, Gwen Stacy, and thrown her from a clock tower. He did it to punish Peter, simply because he refused to give the boy his blood. He did it out of spite.

Peter felt empty when he remembered trying to save Gwen. It was the ugly truth, however, that it was Peter himself who had killed her. He'd tried to save her, and instead ripped her fragile body apart with his web. The force of the fall and the strength of his web had broken her back. Her head had hit the ground, and if his web hadn't have killed her, that blow would have.

And during the nightmare of that night, he'd lost two people he cared about the most.

The only thing he could do right now was wait for that last Thatcher to wake up.

He told her everything. After all, it was said that people in comas could still hear everything around them. He told her about who he was, what he had felt for Claudia, why he had gotten involved in their lives in the first place. He told her about the first night he had ever encountered Martha's baby sister, a cold night so long ago. She'd tried to kill herself. The guilt of their parents' deaths had torn her apart and broken her up, yet it hadn't even been her fault. Peter should have been the one to save them.

So Peter told Martha that, while trying to make amends by making Claudia forgive herself, he had fallen in love with her. He'd fallen for her ferocity, her passion and her strength. He'd fallen for her sharp tongue and her quick wit. In a way, the tragedy had changed into someone beyond fixing, yet was stronger than anybody else he knew. Most people would have crumbled, yet both Martha and Claudia remained strong. Peter respected that more than anything.

He recited everything; meeting Claudia, learning about her violent relationship with Martha's ex, Rick Hammond, going through Hammond's downfall and so on. He told Martha about his break up with Claudia and the agony of it, though he was only trying to protect the both of them. He told her about Harry Osborn, his best friend, who had betrayed everyone. He told her about the night he lost both Claudia and Gwen.

He told her about how he was tempted to end his own life the same way Claudia had when she was sixteen.

He told her this simply because he was convinced Martha would never wake up.

After all, the only people that could listen to him now were those who were dead.

* * *

Connor Young knew of Peter's grief. He'd watched it weigh him down for a while now. Once bright, his eyes shining with hope and a smile of a boy living a good life was now on death's wish list. Love did that to people. It ruined them.

Peter Parker visited Martha three to four times a week. He would do the same thing on each visit; walk in, sit in the visitors chair on the right side of the bed, and take the young woman's small, pale hand in his and squeeze it. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was to get some kind of response, or to reassure himself that maybe one day she would wake up.

Connor wasn't sure himself. He was amazed that the woman had survived that damn crash. Granted he had wanted her to survive, but that didn't make him any less surprised. He had been against the workings of Oscorp, knowing what they truly represented. They were nothing more than monsters who experimented on people. And when he had that the famous sisters were wrapped up in such an environment, he found himself wanting to intervene.

Connor was nothing special. Before this he was nothing more than a barman, his only talent being able to mix together a wide range of cocktails. And he was also a doorman. Quick on his feet and always fixated on one aim, he could floor a drunk in a matter of two seconds.

That's how he wound up being an Oscorp member of security. With fighting skills and a focussed mind, the company wasn't bothered about anything else. Connor didn't need to know anything or do anything, aside from stand outside a door and drive members of the company from A to B. Sometimes he was even made to keep an eye of the security cameras, but what he saw now and then made him sick to his stomach.

He'd seen spies get beaten by men twice their size, locked away in isolation for days at a time until they swore on their own families' lives that they would keep quiet. Of course Connor had taken some kind of oath and signed a contract to keep the same kind of silence.

For eight months Connor watched these events unfold and remained vigilant. It wasn't until Martha and Claudia were involved that he had seen enough. He'd watched them both get beaten, thrown around a room like rags, threatened all while they had been taken from their own home. Claudia had barely reached eighteen and Martha just turned twenty four. It wasn't fair. They'd been through enough.

Yet Connor hadn't been able to save both of them. Claudia was still gone, lost to everyone. Dead or alive she had been failed. At least it was a fact that Martha's heart was still beating. Claudia was now just an unknown entity; even the police had given up trying to find her and presumed her dead after Connor's statement that she had been shot by a man who had since been identified and arrested.

Yet, Martha Thatcher was dead, too. To protect her from Oscorp, Connor had changed her name to Amelia Turner. He'd kept her life a secret for five months before telling the Parker boy of her whereabouts, for the risk of Oscorp hearing about her survival could lead to a very sudden but suspicious death. Connor himself had made sure he vanished off the radar and never travelled far from the hospital in which Martha was situated. Whenever Peter wasn't there, Connor was. As far as he was concerned, Martha was under his protection since he couldn't save her sister.

He wasn't alone, of course. Many people were against Oscorp and were on the inside feeding out information. Such a corporation was bound to bring its own inside enemies; hell, Gwen Stacy was suspicious prior to her death and began searching the files for something she wasn't even sure about. There were a handful of mice in a cage full of rats, each one discovering something new and significant, something closer to bringing down Oscorp. And there was other victims being protected, from singletons to entire families. Even Dr Curt Connors' family were being protected, his wife and son shielded away from Oscorp's grip. Dr Connors had known his mistake and wouldn't want his family to follow the same path and move into the company's shadow.

And Peter Parker, unknown to him, was also under Connor's surveillance. He was a victim, someone being traced all the time, and had to be secured. Gwen had also been under his watch, but was also another soul he had failed.

There was one more victim, a boy whom had succeeded the late Norman Osborn. He was a boy suspected of wrong doings by his own company, but only hell knew where he had vanished to. Connor had a blood curdling feeling about the young Harry Osborn, and chose to let him do what he pleased when he had taken over Oscorp's higher members of staff with Max Dillon.

But there was no point in dwelling. Martha and Peter were still alive and they were all that mattered.

This day was a new day, and step closer to Martha's possible wakening. Peter was there today, gripping her hand like he always did, whispering to her while his eyes remained closed and his body stiff. A small TV in the corner of the room was playing the news on mute, like it always did, on the off chance that there was any fresh news relating to Claudia. It felt like yet another glum, hopeless day.

"Good evening, Peter." Connor said politely as he closed the door behind him. Peter grunted in response. Peter never really took any notice of Connor. The only reason he allowed him into Martha's room was because he had been the one to pull her out of the wreckage. Other than that Connor was nothing to the teenager.

"No chance?" Connor asked.

"None," Peter sighed. "Not even a twitch."

"She's alive, though."

"For what purpose? Just to lie here and rot away in her sleep?" Peter scoffed. "Claudia would hate this."

"Claudia's not here, she doesn't know and probably never will know."

"I hate it when you speak of her as if she's dead." Peter spat, clearly annoyed. "She's _not _dead."

Connor glared back at the boy, finding his ignorance frustrating. "Then where is she?"

Peter didn't say anything and closed his eyes again.

Connor moved towards Martha's bed, peering down at her face. She truly was beautiful. She was look even more beautiful if her eyes would just open to reveal those magnificent blue orbs that mimicked her sister's. He'd admired her beauty from the minute he'd seen her face on the news so long ago, when she and Claudia were being recognised for their bravery during their parents' deaths and Rick's abuse. How could he not? She was stunning.

Carefully, he brushed away a stray strand of yellow hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. It saddened him. When he had first encountered her she had been fierce and untrusting, and rightfully so, but now she couldn't look any more innocent. Hopelessly lost in a black abyss behind her lids. Somewhere in her mind she was locked away, screaming at herself to wake up. Though he didn't even know her, he imagined that her first demand would be to search for her little sister. This thought was just as upsetting as her innocence.

For no reason at all, simply wanting a distraction, Connor looked up at the TV. If his heart could stop from shock it probably would have. Instead it sped up, beating frantically in his chest. Excitement and fear froze him in place, and a curse fell from his lips before he whispered Peter's name.

The boy looked up, stared, and then bolted up as a sob fell from his throat.

**_MISSING GIRL FOUND IN TIMES SQUARE. CLAUDIA THATCHER HAS BEEN FOUND AND IDENTIFIED._**

But it wasn't Claudia. It was someone else that just looked very much like her. Someone, a low life who thrived on grabbing the most horrifying videos for the news, had spotted her and felt the need to film her rather than help her.

Claudia was skinny, too skinny, with red wrists and ankles and protected by nothing but a flimsy white gown that was filthy. Her black hair was cut short, no longer at the small of her back but falling just past her chin. She was coated in cuts and bruises, her hands red with blood, her eyes black with bruises and lips cut viciously and deep.

She was on all fours, looking at nothing, not seeming to take anything in. People rushed to her aid, wanting to help, and soon she vanished from view and the video ended, replaced by a reporter.

It was being stated that she had been taken to a private hospital and was in critical condition. Connor wasn't listening anymore, too focussed on the boy who had fallen to his knees and was weeping like a child. Was it grief or joy? He couldn't tell.

But that wasn't who Claudia used to be before she went missing. For a start, she had blue eyes, not green. Secondly, they certainly did not glow like a cat's before her disappearance. Something was terribly wrong, but Connor was in too much shock to process exactly why. Instead he listening to Peter whispered the same name over and over, but it wasn't his lost love's name.

"Harry's alive, Harry's alive, Harry's alive…"

"What are you talking about?" Connor whispered.

Peter stopped and went silent before peering up through red, blotchy eyes that glistened with tears.

"Her eyes weren't hers," the boy croaked. "And the only other time I've seen them glow like that was when Harry Osborn attacked Gwen." He swallowed, trying to compose himself. "He went missing the same night Claudia did."

They remained silent for a moment before Peter began to make his way unsteadily to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Where the hell do you think?" he snapped angrily before slamming the door behind him.

Connor stood, amazed. He looked at Martha, who remained as still as before.

_Now is the time to wake up, darling, _he thought, before he took off after Peter.

* * *

**Sorry for any mistakes guys :)**


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